Laundry 2: Stains Never Die
by Relics
Summary: Father Alexander Anderson. His dirty laundry. And why he should never be allowed near washing machines.


**o.o Because people like my first fic called "Laundry", I just thought I'd do another scenario, just with Father Anderson! Be warned: This is random. And that's because I just drank a liter of pepsi. You hath been warned.**

**By the way, I HATE typing up Father's accent...Pretty to hear, not to type.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Father Anderson, Hellsing, or WhirlPool.**

* * *

It was Thursday. 

Out of all the things that Alexander Anderson hated, he hated Thurdays. A lot.

Why would he hate Thurdays? The answer is actually very simple.

It was Laundry Day.

Why would he hate Laundry Day? Easy!

It was the new washing machine. A Whirlpool, to be exact. It looked like any ordinary washing machine. White. Big. Could open up. Could clean clothes. Only, there was one difference.

The priest was convinced it was possessed by a demon. Late at night, it would start thumping up and down, making a lot of racket, waking the kids and him up. It would stop in the middle of a load. But the worst part...the part that made him convinced it was possessed...was that itwould never get the stains out of any of his robes. There would always be a tiny blood stain on them, somewhere, cleverly hidden from him. But he would always find them...eventually.

So, there he was, in the laundry room, glaring at the washing machine.

The washing machine stared back at him.

"Ah hate ye," he growled, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

The washing machine stayed silent.

Father Anderson narrowed his green eyes. He didn't want to do his laundry, but he had just killed some ghouls, was covered in blood and gore, seriously needed a shower and a change of clothes. But, because of his avoidance of the machine, all his other robes were also dirty. Which meant that he had to wash something.

It was now or never.

Sighing, the priest walked over to the offending machine and tossed in his clothes. Closing the door, he backed up, looking around for the detergent. He saw it on the top shelf and easily reached it, keeping a wary eye on his enemy. "...How much do Ah put in?" He wondered aloud, walking back over to it, reading the directions. They didn't make any sense.

So, Father Anderson just dumped a lot into the washing machine and shut the door. There. That was one problem solved. Now all he had to do was figure out how long to put it on. Rubbing his stubbly chin, he stared at the many buttons and nobs. "...Ah knew Ah shoulda payed more attention..." He muttered under his breath, setting it for one hour.

The machine instantly whirled to life, making Anderson jump slightly and glare at it angrily.

Alright. There was no way he was going to stay in a room with this...thing...for one hour. No possible way. _Might as well go and take that shower..._ He thought, turning around and walking out of the laundry room.

Yup. That sounded like a good idea right about then.

* * *

Half an hour later, Father Anderson was clean and felt a little happier, smiling when some of the orphans tried to pile up on him. They wanted him to play, but he told them that he had to finish his laundry first. At this, they kind of stared at him, but shrugged it off. So, he walked into the laundry room with a towel over his head, wearing the only pair of his white pants that weren't too dirty, though they had some flecks of blood on them. 

And just as he walked in, that's when the washing machine decided to start acting up. It started thumping up and down, banging againist the walls, the door opening slightly and bubbles sliding to the floor. This nearly gave Anderson a heart attack, and he grabbed one of his blessed blades from the shelf- He had put one there the first time he was in there - and launched himself at it.

"AH KNEW IT!" He shouted, starting to stab the "possessed" machine. This only made it act worse, but the priest was determined to kill the demon that tried to clean his clothes.

Well, as it turns out, washing machines aren't very blade resistant. Who would have thought? So, after a few dozen stabs, the washing machine decided that enough was enough.

And exploded.

* * *

Enrico Maxwell glared daggers at the very wet, though spring rain smelling, priest who sat in front of him. "Anderson?" He said, crossing his arms.

"..Aye?" Came the timid reply.

"...Is it true that you attacked a washing machine?"

"..Aye.."

"...Because it made funny noises?"

"..Aye.."

"..And you were convinced...it was possessed?"

"..A-aye."

Maxwell rubbed his temples, trying to think clearly. Because now he had an orphange in Rome that was covered with soap bubbles and smelled nice. Oh, the kids loved Father Anderson for doing it. But they were the only ones who saw any good out of it. "...Anderson.."

"Aye?"

"Hand me that newspaper beside you..."

The priest blinked and did so. Maxwell rolled it up and looked at Anderson.

**WHAP.**

"NEXT TIME, TAKE YOUR LAUNDRY TO THE CLEANERS!"


End file.
